Forgive and Forget?
by LorennaLee
Summary: What happens when Sabastian a.k.a- Jonathon Christopher comes to new york seeking revenge, and gets something different entirely? Post City of Glass
1. Prologue

Foot steps, laughter, more faces full of smiles and intoxicated grins. Not a care on their minds.

Some glance his way, a few actually smile and make eye contact. Mundanes, they're so clueless, they have no idea of everything their eyes don't see and what their minds could never comprehend. More and more walk by, yet he still awaits in silence, anticipating a different group. Six months. Six long, miserable months. That's how long it has been since the events that occurred in The Glass City of Idris. Six months of rune after rune of healing, trying to bring himself out of the edge of death. Six months of having to hide undercover, be in disguise so no one recognised him. Now he wore no disguise, no dye in his hair, no hiding his straight blond hair and dark brown eyes, no hiding his runes. The many runes encircling his arms and chest that kept him alive all those pain filled hours.

He leaned against the brick wall of the alley, into the shadow so he couldn't be identified, and fiddled with his single seraph blade. Some would argue that it wasn't smart for a shadowhunter to only carry one weapon, especially for his mission, but he didn't care. He was reckless. He wasn't even sure why he was here, about to attempt what he knew was impossible. Standing in the alley next to Pandemonium, he faced the question he had tried to ignore many times in the last few days. Why? Why was he here? The easy answer, of course, would be revenge. The answer he chose to keep telling himself, over and over again. Revenge. But always, always a small thought in the back of his mind would spring up. That one answer that he would never admit to anyone, not even himself. Everything that had happened suddenly exploded in his mind. All the feelings he had felt, all the events that had happened because of him, the memories too hard to think about when he were younger, the emotions he had always tried to hide. The guilt he would never admit he felt, that weighed down on his shoulders now that his father was dead. He wanted to die. Truthfully, he deserved to die. And somewhere in his mind, he knew that going to pick a fight with the lightwoods would be the easiest way to achieve that.

He was Jonathon Christopher Morgenstein. The second most hated man in the history of the shadowhunter world, under his father, Valentine.

* * *

  
_Author Note: Okay so this is just the prologue. I really hope you like it! I haven't completely made up my mind on which way to take this story, but i have plenty of ideas that i can't wait to write. So, please review or send me a message and tell me what you think. Thanks! _


	2. Chapter 1

Wait! He was pulled out of his reverie by familiar voices. Quiet footsteps, none other than one of shadowhunters. Voices. The voices of the people that hated him most. They would kill him on the spot, absolute no hesitation. No! He wasn't thinking of them killing him, he was the one getting revenge. Revenge for his father. Its what Valentine would have expected of him. Revenge on Jace, revenge on Clary, his own sister. But he would do whatever his father would have told him to, just like always.

Jonathon stepped into the light of the alley given off by the streetlamp and leaned against the wall again, waiting for the group to get close enough to see him. There was no missing him, he stood out like a sore thumb, black shadowhunter clothes contrasting his blond hair. His hand lay on the hilt of his seraph blade at his belt, ready and waiting. The small group was walking toward him now, Jace and Clary, Isabelle and Simon, and Alec and Magnus. They looked so..so happy. Talking and laughing, so much joy in their eyes. A pang of jealousy hit Jonathon, though he quickly smothered it out. Jace was the reason he wanted so much vengeance. Everything was his fault, yet he was always Valentine's favorite. Jonathon had done everything his father asked of him, trained, fought for him, even would have given his life for him, and Jace had done nothing but fight against them! His father never loved him, never appreciated him, only used him for his own advantage, and he still couldn't live up to Jace.

Jonathon looked up to see they were about twenty feet away from him, he heard a little of their conversation, joking about how Maryse was going to be mad that they were past curfew. He looked down at his watch, 12:46 A.M., and looked back up at them. What would they're reaction be to seeing him? Well, that was a stupid question, of course they'd immediately pull out weapons. But he didn't blame them one bit, he deserved that reaction.

Closer, they came, about ten feet away now. For the first time, Jonathon hesitated, thinking about chickening out. He didn't know why, he'd never felt an emotion like this before. Regret? Regret for coming here? Was it Fear? He'd never felt fear before, never hesitated to think someone might be stronger, a better opponent, than himself. Was it guilt? The last moths, he'd spent entirely alone, with no one but himself to replay his entire life. Everything his father had told him was right had turned out to be wrong. He'd done things he considered cruel now, that back then he felt no emotion at all. Why was he feeling now, when before he could kill without a thought, without a care, without even an ounce of emotion? What was wrong with him? He couldn't understand any of it. All those years of the cold heartless deeds he had done had been coming back to him slowly, adding more and more guilt. What if the man he had killed for money for a train ticket a few years ago, had a wife that loved him and would cry when she realized he would never come home from work? What if the owner of the convenience store he had stolen from awhile back would have used that money to feed his children? What if, What if, What if?

Once his father had died, he felt different. Almost like a switch had been turned, changing everything about him, Of course he would never admit this. He didn't even admit it to himself that something was different.

_Stop! This is absurd. I need to get my mind back to the task at hand, Stay focused. _Jonathon mentally shook himself. Why on earth was he acting so stupid? He looked back to the group of Lightwoods about to walk past him, still laughing and talking, not even paying attention to what was right in front of them. Jonathon took a step back, about to change his mind but, Jace's eyes slid to meet his just in time before he could fall back into the shadows. They both stopped in their tracks, like time had slowed. On instinct, Jonathon's seraph blade was in his hand faster than a blink of an eye, Jace likewise. Jonathon fitted his face with a smug carefree smirk, "Past curfew, are we?" He broke the eye contact with Jace and looked at everyone of them in turn. Their faces held a mixture of shock, disgust, disbelief, and hatred.

"Hey, little sis." He forced himself to grin and seem mocking and carefree.

"H-how are you- I thought you were..."

"Dead?" he filled in. "Well, no, I wasn't. Almost, but Jace didn't quite do the trick. You know, legend says the water in that stream has miracle healing powers. What do ya know, I'm a believer!" his voice was smug and playful.

AND THEN...

* * *

Okay, this is how it's going to work: You leave reviews telling me what you want to happen and I will make it happen. The story is now in your hands! You can make it crazy, you can make it serious, sad, happy, funny, anything you choose! So, write down what your ideas are and what you'd like to see happen and I'll write it! Have fun!

Thanks,

Lorenna


	3. Chapter 3

_They'll all on edge. They actually fear me, I can see it in their eyes. If only they knew I'm barely a threat at all. If they only knew the demon blood pumping through my veins is slowly killing me day by day._

Jonathon had discovered that fact not too long after his father's death. He had begun to feel drained and sick, even after the healing process was complete. For awhile, he passed it off as side effects from a near death experience, but once the pain started, he knew something else was wrong. He was practicing a new fighting technique the first time it hit him. Out of nowhere, an excruciating pain hit him, knocking him to his knees. It felt as though his chest was being ripped open and his organs crushed. Since then, it had only gotten progressively worse. Recently, the pain had been so extreme that he had blacked out and only woken hours later. But despite the pain, but what scared him the most was he had a theory of what triggered it. Emotion. Regret. Sympathy. When he tried to think of the regret he felt, the lurking presence of the pain in his chest would push it from his mind.

After many healers, he finally found one who knew the problem. And gave him the complete truth. The demon blood running through his veins was too strong. His father had been using runes and herbs on him without his knowledge, and without them now, the venom of demon blood would surely slowly kill him.

Now as he stood in from of them all, this all flooded into his mind. The smirk fell from his face. Jace's eyes bore into him, full of hatred and suspicion. Clary cowered slightly behind him, even though she was trying to seem brave. Isabella and Alec both weld weapons and stood waiting for a fight, as if he were just another dangerous demon on their list. Magnus seemed interested, but pissed that he might mess up his hair if he has to fight.

He knew they deserved an apology. They deserved to see his blood spilled on the pavement. They deserved revenge. He had taken so much from them, and been the reason for their unhappiness. He wished he could go back in time to stop it all, to take it all back. He wasn't going to lie to himself anymore. He knew he was in the wrong, and they had every right to despise him. He could never make it up to them. No apology could fill the emotional scars he had left.

His chest began tightening with every thought, and he knew he should pull back and retrain his thoughts to make them ease, but he didn't. The thoughts kept coming, and the guilt and regret grew.

They were all still staring at him waiting. His fingers felt numb, and the sharp clank of his seraph blade falling from his fingertips pierced the silence, making them jump slightly. He dropped his head, staring at the pavement, trying to control the pain in his chest and the throbbing now radiating through his skull. He sensed, rather than heard Jace take a step closer to him. With Jonathon's face down and hidden in shadow, Jace was probably on edge, thinking this was a ploy to distract or deceive him. Jonathon gasped as a sharp pain stabbed his heart, and he stumbled back against the wall of the alley, thinking that he had surely been stabbed by Jace. The pain was worse than he'd ever felt before, and he had to gasp for air to reach his lungs as the pain subsided to a bearable throb. Shock hit him when he was able to open his eyes to see no blood on his chest. Jace hadn't caused him any harm at all.

He watched as a drop of water fell and crashed into a puddle on the alley floor, and only realized a second later that it was a tear falling from his very own face. He felt the moisture running down his face, and for once in his life, and he didn't even care that they were watching him. He remembered his childhood memories with a cold, heartless father, who if he were to see him cry like this, would have beaten him to a pulp.

The pain had worsened once again and he clutched his stomach, shaking and gasping from the pain, loss of breath, and tears. He looked up at them for the first time since smirking that felt so long ago, and looked into each of their eyes, finally landed on Jace's, who was directly in front of him.

"I'm sor-" Jonathon tried to say, interrupted himself with a groan of pain as the worst shock of pain shook through him so far and dropped to his knees. "..I'm so..sorry," he gasped out, right before the pain exploded and blackness swarmed in, leaving him unconsious on the cold pavement of New York.


End file.
